


Enyalios, God of Courage (and Manliness)

by odiko_ptino



Series: Modern AU [19]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Dog Walking, Enyalios, Gen, Vimy Ridge Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 13:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17023656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odiko_ptino/pseuds/odiko_ptino
Summary: Icarus meets the god of courage and manliness.





	Enyalios, God of Courage (and Manliness)

9 April – Vimy Ridge Day. A memorial to the Battle of Vimy Ridge in France in 1917: a great tactical success by the Canadian forces in that war. 

It’s not the kind of holiday that has a lot of significance to Icarus, though he dutifully makes a donation to the veteran’s fund boxes he sees throughout the city. He’s not a soldier, almost certainly never will be, either. One of his sisters is considering seeking a commission after she graduates, but she hasn’t committed yet and no one else in his family has served. So, it’s not something that registers to him often. Icarus does make some effort to be mindful of the holiday, but… well, he has his classes, and his jobs, and the freeloading Greek gods in his apartment. It keeps his mind occupied.

He’s out in the park in the center of the city now, walking Smork and Troll; two fat poodles. Their endurance has improved a bit since they started walking with Icarus for exercise, but they still need a break about halfway through, and they’re all sitting on a park bench now, and Icarus is taking a welcome moment to stare into space and think about nothing much.

“You Icarus?” 

The voice, which pitches low and gruff, is enough to snap Icarus out of his haze. It sounds like it belongs to some kind of biker hooligan, and that’s exactly the kind of person who’s glaring at him from the sidewalk. This guy must weigh as much as a gorilla, and is wearing a muscle shirt and fatigues that show that he’s built like a tank. His deeply tanned skin is covered in tattoos that seem to follow a barbed-wire-and-flames theme, and piercings adorn his face. Everything about his face and posture suggests unfriendliness. Shit.

“Uh……..” Icarus is one hundred percent expecting to be mugged, kidnapped or murdered, and flinches back when the towering man thrusts his fist in towards Icarus.

“Yo. Heard a lot about you.”

They freeze like that, Icarus half-raising his hands in defense, and the guy holding his fist out.

“….Fist bump, idiot,” the guy finally growls out like a threat.

“Oh.” Icarus complies, gingerly, noticing that the guy’s knuckles are bruised and scarred. “Uh… well… who are you?”

“Call me Enyalios.” Introductions done, the guy takes a seat with no further ado, manspreading across the entire rest of the bench, though Icarus doubts that anyone was likely to sit next to him anyway. Smork and Troll are both wagging their tails furiously and crowding over to him; they receive some absent-minded pets. The guy – Enyalios – is entirely nonchalant, like he’s already met Icarus.

It’s actually that familiarity that clues Icarus in who he’s talking to, even before he hears the clearly Greek-sounding name. He still thinks he better check to be sure: “Um… are you… an Olympian?”

“A god, yeah. God of courage and manliness, and some other stuff.” 

“Wow, you really – ” Icarus is about to say ‘you really have a god for damn near everything,’ but realizes that could seem rude. He hastily corrects himself mid-sentence: “… you really look manly, I can tell!” 

Not a great save. Icarus cringes at the awkwardness as Enyalios snickers. “Great to hear it. Thanks for the feedback, man.”

Icarus tries to rally, still blushing. “So, um… what… brings you here?”

“Saw the Sun Assholes’ boyfriend sitting with some dogs and thought I’d say hi.”

“Oh – wow, it seems like everyone’s heard of me from them.” 

Smork and Troll have now climbed the bench and are sitting basically in Enyalios’ lap. He lets them, and starts feeding them some jerky treats that he’s materialized out of nowhere. 

“Yeah, well, you’re all they talk about. Can’t get ‘em to shut up about you. Couple of us have bingo sheets – when they bitch about your schedule, or they tell everyone what you’re learning about astronomy which they think is the cutest thing. Or when they try to one-up each other about who made you blush more or Apollo complains about how you roll your shirt sleeves or whatever. Pretty sure everyone in Olympus knows about you by now.”

“..Oh…” Enyalios must pick up on Icarus’ uneasiness because he casts an inquisitive frown in his direction.

“Is that a problem? You want ‘em to stop? I can punch them for you – ”

“Ahh, n-no, not necessary!” Icarus puts up his hands quickly. “I just – you guys are all – sort of – intimidating, a little?”

Enyalios is squinting at him a little, and Icarus fights the urge to squirm. He wonders if a god of courage can sense that Icarus isn’t telling the whole truth here – that Icarus is uneasy because he’s afraid of when the other shoe inevitably drops. 

The awkward silence lasts only a few moments before Enyalios grunts and feeds both dogs another jerky piece. “Yeah, well. We have that effect, I guess. Me more than most.”

“You are pretty… manly,” Icarus jokes clumsily.

Enyalios rolls his eyes. “For what that’s worth. Being manly changes every damn place you go, and there’s trends that change every few years – it used to be manly to wear pink, now it’s not… fuckin’ pain in the ass. Not that courage is any easier, I guess.”

“No, I’d guess not,” Icarus says quietly. 

“That’s why I’m here, technically. There’s an event.”

“Oh – Vimy Ridge Day?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“That’s – wouldn’t that be Ares? The god of war?”

Enyalios makes a noncommittal grunt again and cracks his knuckles. “It’s really more Athena’s thing. Vimy Ridge was a tactical victory. Lots of meticulous planning and shit. Any soldier deals with courage and passion though, and the fighting spirit. All the planning in the world doesn’t change the fact that it’s fuckin’ scary to charge into battle, and hope that your plan and fighting ability is better than the other guys’. You need both, and a lot of those guys were kids your age and needed the encouragement. Patriotism and a plan will only get so far before you need something more. It’s true in life, anywhere, people need more than a great plan to go through with scary shit, you need fighting spirit too! Uh…so… yeah, I’m here too.”

Icarus notices that Enyalios didn’t actually answer the question, exactly, of whether Ares is here.

“Hey, listen,” Enyalios says, abruptly: “Wanna hear some embarrassing stories about the sun assholes?”

He doesn’t wait before launching in. Icarus isn’t surprised when Apollo arrives shortly during the tale of the first Olympics:

“…and his chiton fell down, left him bare-assed naked, and he played the whole thing off like he meant for it to happen because running naked is some big advantage, so then everyone had to compete naked. Fuckin’ dumbass.”

“That was a malicious rumor started by Hermes, and I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t waste your time filling my lover’s head with lies!” Apollo says hotly. “Aren’t you supposed to be working now, anyway? Get out there! Athena’s probably pissed at you by now!”

“Like she’s ever not pissed at me,” Enyalios mutters, rolling his eyes, not looking at Apollo. “Fine, whatever.”

He gets up, gently detaching Troll and Smork from his lap and giving them another jerky piece before jamming his hands in his pockets and slouching over. “Later, kid,” he says to Icarus.

Icarus stands up too, transferring both leashes to one hand and quickly sticking out his fist. “Good to meet you, Enyalios!” 

There’s a long, embarrassing pause, while Apollo stares at Enyalios with raised eyebrows, and Enyalios looks awkwardly at Icarus.

“Uh… fist bump?” Icarus tries.

Enyalios’ face cracks into a grin suddenly, which is nearly as terrifying as his scowl. He stretches out one bruised fist and touches it to Icarus’ own. 

“Take care, asshole,” he says, and vanishes.

Icarus is already waving at empty air, and quickly puts his hand down. He smiles up at Apollo.

“If you take one of these dogs’ leashes, we can hold hands,” he says, seeing that Apollo still looks annoyed. 

It works; the sun god’s face glows slightly as he complies. His hand is warm on the Canadian spring day – which effectively means, still winter.

“He seemed nice,” Icarus ventures after a moment. “Enyalios, I mean.”

“…That was Ares.”

Icarus fights a chill in his spine. He knows better – he clearly knows better. He just spoke to the god, while he was feeding jerky to two fat poodles and telling a story of how Apollo mooned the first Olympic Games audience. The stereotype can’t be true… but, the name is still scary. It evokes a mental image of savagery, bloodshed, brutal fighting…

“I… kinda guessed that,” Icarus says. “He wouldn’t say where Ares was for the Vimy Ridge Day. But he called himself Enyalios…”

“That’s one of his epithets. I suppose he’s aware of his reputation. Perhaps he didn’t want to intimidate you.” Apollo sighs. “He’s come a long way from his early days.”

“He said he was the god of courage.”

“He is, among other things.”

“Yeah, he said he was the god of manliness too. Glad he didn’t try to give me any pointers.”

Apollo is startled into an (elegant) bark of laughter at that.


End file.
